Daddy's Girl
by vintage1983
Summary: Gabriel Lorca shameless smut. Written as prompt response. PWP. Daddy kink, but all consenting adult fun. Reader POV.


_AN- Just realised I hadn't put this up on this site. Written as a prompt response on AO3. Surprise, surprise… shameless smut-fest!_

 _Reviews welcome and as always thanks for reading/reviewing/ favourites and alerts._

 _Enjoy guys!_

Your purposeful walk stopped dead at the doorway. With a final deep exhale, you announced your presence at the entrance to the ready room, unsure if this was a professional or social call, it was always best to err on the side of caution and assume a business-like demeanour. You'd know soon enough. He made you wait; he tested your resolve, your patience and your limits at every turn and you loved it. The pause was broken and a familiar deep drawl demanded you to come, not for the first time you smirked to yourself.

Lorca stood formally, statesman-like and stern-faced. You detected this was a professional meeting and adjusted accordingly, pushing away the invading images of more intimate moments that made you roll your lower lip between your teeth and threatened to force that wicked smirk to return. You straightened yourself up and cleared your throat knowing your Captain was silently observing you. You tried to hide disappointment as he talked shop, nodding in the right places, responding formally, but even the word 'Sir' hung on your lips, made your mouth go dry; he must have noticed. You watched his mouth moving, your gaze drawn to each glimpse of his tongue that evoked powerful memories imprinted on your body in the places it had explored. It required a conscious effort not to let your mouth fall open or allow your tongue to trace across your lips, as you tried not to obviously scan his body squeezed deliciously into that tight, perfectly fitted uniform, or harder still not to succumb to the even more tempting image of him out of it, unashamedly naked. Your final obstacle to maintaining an air of professionalism were those beautiful blue eyes, always alive with the glint of bedevilment, too easy to get lost in. Truthfully you had stopped listening a while ago.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked knowing full well the source of your distraction. He maintained his serious face, but you were sure there was a subtle shift in his expression that hinted at something more interesting to come.

"Yes, Sir," you answered doing a poor job of concealing your diversion. It took all of your concentration and focus not to tip your head and twirl your hair through your fingers like a besotted school girl.

"You seem…distracted," he said with intent.

Your breath hitched as he closed the space between you, in what seemed like singular fluid movement. He was behind you now, fingers raking up the back of your neck into your hair, hot breath in your ear. His free hand slid around your waist, the flat of his palm pressing on your stomach, pulling you in hard to dissolve the tiny remaining space between your bodies. Warmth radiated through the fabric of your uniform, the throbbing, dull ache between your thighs you had tried to dismiss was now thrumming too hard to ignore. Each breath was now more ragged than the last and you swallowed audibly.

"Is this distracting you?" he said pressing his arousal into your arse.

A strangled whimper escaped without your consent and you tried fruitlessly to compose yourself.

"Yes, Sir," you managed finally.

"Good girl," he said, now softly brushing his thumb across your cheek and down your neck. "I have a special request this evening, if you are available." His fingers had strayed further, down your collarbone, lightly tracing the outline of your chest and along the curve of your waist to your hip. His voice poured into your ear like warm honey and your knees buckled a little, making you grateful to be pressed so close against his firm body to keep you upright. He knew damn well you were very much available, available now if he had a mind to drag you onto the floor and fuck you there and then.

"Of course, _Sir_ , whatever you ask," you felt him tense a little as you played wantonly on his title, you knew what he liked, understood perfectly your role in the game and took equal pleasure in relinquishing control.

"Not Sir tonight, sweetheart," his voiced lowered to almost a whisper, "I want you to call me Daddy."

You sharply pulled in a breath in an uncertain mix of surprise and excitement. It wasn't what you anticipated, but it made a knot tighten in your stomach and elicited an even deeper yearning between your legs.

"Can you be a _real_ good girl and do that for me?" he breathed, his hand snaking its way across your hip bone, before teasing up your inner thighs and squeezing firmly at their now hot, dampened apex. You let out a deep sigh of approval and tried your best not to falter in your response.

"Yes," you stumbled, "yes, I can do that…Daddy." You forced it out, yet it brought an almost overwhelming sense of release, even power, that you would be able to cater so precisely to such a specific need. Gabriel let out a deep moan and thrust his own now very obviously hard cock against you making you fight the urge to buck and writhe against it. He stepped back and turned you to face him. Your cheeks flushed with arousal and shame and you couldn't help but fix your eyes down and the floor, until he cupped your face and forced you to look him in the eye.

Now staring intently at you, he commanded, "say it again."

Licking your lips, torn between the mounting wet heat of your cunt and the burning in your cheeks you focused on those eyes, wickedly alive with lust. "Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl, my good girl," he said softly stroking your cheek. Your hair had fallen on to your shoulders and he took hold of each bunch in his hands.

"Can you wear it up like this?" he asked almost pleading.

"Pigtails?"

He nodded and you enjoyed watching him grit his teeth to hold himself together. "And a skirt, a short one, nothing underneath."

"Yes," you paused for effect, to see him squirm just a tiny bit, "Daddy," you drew it out relishing the impact of the word.

Captain Lorca straightened himself up and produced a wolfish grin.

"Then that will be all," he said as if they had gone through a dull list of daily orders and spoke of nothing more.

The shift was endless, most of it spent drifting off into your own lustful thoughts only to be dragged back by the concerned voices of your crewmates asking if you were feeling alright, snapping you brutally back into the present. By the time you made it to your quarters you felt like you might burst, your day been plagued by the incessant ache and heat from your encounter with your Captain, practical matters were constantly interrupted by thoughts lunging from sheer excitement to a feeling bordering on disgust at your own readiness, even excitement to play out this new game.

Standing in the shower, you closed your eyes and couldn't resist dipping your own fingers down to quell the need that had drummed there since your morning meeting. Despite feeling every second of your own acute discomfort for hours on end, it still shocked you to find just how wet it had made you.

Finally, you could lose yourself in those thoughts that had disturbed you all day. Eyes closed you could now allow yourself to picture your complete and willing surrender; it pleased you. That new piece of vocabulary echoed from earlier in the day and the astonishing power it gave you made you tingle. Unable to stop yourself, you whispered it, a rehearsal for later, a little louder, a little less awkward each time until it came with conviction. Your own knowing fingers found your clit and worked between slick folds to bring yourself rapidly to an inevitable orgasm. Steadying yourself against the tiled wall, three things were certain: this was a punishable action; you would confess; and you would be punished.

You were on time and he let you in quickly and unnoticed. You knew better than to be seen. He scowled and said nothing, eyeing your uniform and the neat crown of braids tightly fixed in. You said nothing either, instead slipping into the bathroom to change. Much as it interrupted the illusion, you both knew it was worth the trade off to keep your visit discrete. Hair carefully unpinned and jammed into the eye-wateringly short black skirt you inspected yourself in the mirror, the reflection looking back felt almost complete. You had brought a simple white shirt that you tied in a knot at the waist and slicked on a deep scarlet lipstick; it wasn't your usual taste, yet it seemed to finish your look exactly. Conscious you were keeping him waiting and patience was not high on his list of virtues, you took a final look and stepped out into the room.

He stood as sternly as he had before, arms folded across his chest. He let out a deep sigh, superficially of disappointment, but you knew better. You had studied that face enough to recognise the tightening muscles in his strong jawline and know behind the play-acting was silent approval.

"You kept me waiting, you know I don't like to be kept waiting."

God, he was good at this and you knew what came next.

"I'm sorry," you said, bowing your head, fidgeting with the pigtails he had been so specific about.

"Come here," he demanded. That severe tone gave you a shiver, like an invisible chord pulling at your insides making you all too aware of your nakedness beneath the barely-there skirt.

You approached coyly, still making endless loops around your hair, trying to avoid eye contact and knowing your cheeks were flushed. He snatched your braids away from you with a sharp yank, forcing your head to tip back, making you look at him.

"Sorry, what?" he insisted.

"Sorry…Daddy," you rasped.

"Better," he said loosening his grip and stepping back to admire you. You watched him drink in your appearance, as he had requested, noticed his tongue slide teasingly across his lips. "Did you do everything I asked?"

Shame was left behind now. "Oh yes, Daddy, _everything_." You couldn't help but bite your lip, drop your tone to a husky whisper, eyes alight with mischief as his hand glided up your bare thigh and under your skirt to verify your claim. Rough fingers skimmed across your already soaked cunt, coercing a hoarse moan from you.

"Good girl, such a good girl." He withdrew his hand and you pined and ached for its return, much as you liked his praise, your need to confess overtook you.

"But Daddy, I haven't been a good girl at all," you blurted out.

"No?" he questioned, "you'd better tell me what you did." You could see the amusement fighting at the corner of his mouth, like you had handed him a perfect gift.

"I couldn't help it," you chewed you lip hard, wide eyed trying to look innocent, looking incredibly guilty. "I was all wet and I just had to touch myself."

"Where?" he growled.

"There," you gestured with your eyes, slipping your own hand downwards, picking at the hem of your skirt. You looked up, open-mouthed, awaiting reaction. He said nothing and turned away silently. The pause was intolerable, it made you squirm and unsure of what he wanted from you next, so you waited.

Still ignoring you he pulled the chair out and took painstaking care to straighten it. He didn't look at you, back turned he patted the seat and barked a solitary command, "sit."

You did so without question or reply. Out of habit you sat with in a dignified manner, legs together and with upright posture. He shook his head and forcefully pushed your knees apart, until each leg was hooked over the arms of the chair, as far removed from dignified as you could be seated.

"Show me," his next command.

Your mouth opened, but only a wordless breath came out.

"Show your Daddy what you did, I need to know just how wicked you've been." He grinned with devilish delight. You tried to look wounded and worried at the request, deep down you revelled in it.

"Go on, show me what you did."

You needed no further instruction, instead returning your fingers to your drenched, hot, open cunt, exercising as much restraint as you were capable of, knowing you could tip yourself over the edge all too quickly. You toyed at the swollen nub of nerves, your eyes fixed on him. Being watched made it all the more intense. He battled to maintain his displeased expression, but you could read him so easily, the slackening of his jaw, the heavy-lidded eyes, you upped your pace, let out soft, guttural moans certain he would fall apart at any moment. A first tentative finger wound its way up inside you, followed rapidly by a second, then a third, your own slender digits failing to give you the feeling of fullness and completeness you now craved. The rise and fall of his chest grew sharper, you let your moans grow louder, partly a creative choice and partly an involuntary response. You could see the outline of his now fully hard cock pressing uncomfortably for release from his tight pants. It only made you ache to be filled more, but you couldn't resist. You had to push him.

"Oh Daddy, I'm so sorry I'm such a bad girl, I'm so sorry."

It was too much, he snapped back into command and before you could take it in your, hand was dragged away, leaving you empty and unfulfilled. You had been scooped up and found yourself slumped, face-down across his lap, skirt bunched up at your waist, bare bottom in the air being spanked. Each slap across your exposed bottom came harder than the last, sometimes in rapid succession, sometimes with drawn out intermissions, the wait making you catch your breath. It was relentless, but each stinging sensation only made you more excited, though it hardly seemed possible, even wetter than before. When you tried to grind against his knee for the delicious friction you longed for, he would hold you still, censure you for further disobedience. Then it stopped. Suddenly, without warning.

You found yourself sobbing both from the acute sting and burning on your cheeks and in the desperate frustration and need between your legs. He was shushing you now, offering comfort, brushing away a single gloopy tear that rolled down your cheek.

"There, there, are you alright?" he asked softly.

You could only nod, your mouth too dry to form words.

"You know I don't like having to do that, but you need to be a good girl."

"I will," you sighed, defeated, control fully relinquished.

He held you softly, at first his kiss gently brushing over your lips, bidding them to part for him. You complied weakly, allowing his tongue to slip over yours, melting into each other in a brief, but lovely moment of absolute tenderness. Your head swam as you lost yourself in the strength and scent of him, until he broke away.

"Show me you can be good, sweetheart," he stroked your hair softly, "kneel down and close your eyes" You did it quickly, without hesitation. You kept your eyes tight shut, though you could hear him undressing. He lifted your chin.

"Beautiful," he said, "my beautiful girl." You him draw his thumb across your lips and instinctively waiting patiently for it to be replaced with something else. You kept your eyes closed until told otherwise, but willingly took him into your mouth as you felt the tip of his cock nudge against you. You took it in deeply and greedily, working your tongue around the head.

"Fuck, oh _fuck_ , slow down," he almost howled, his grip winding into your hair, directing your biddable mouth as he wished. Lost in your own urgency you had almost forgotten he must be aching to be touched as much as you. You worked obediently, taking the thick, hard length of him in deep, then sliding slowly away, now seeking praise and reward.

"Good, so good, open your eyes sweetheart, look at me, look at your Daddy when you do that."

You repressed a smirk of satisfaction. You knew your crimson lipstick was smudged across your face. You rejoiced in looking up at him barely hanging on, so close to coming apart, the salty taste of his come already present on your tongue.

"I need to fuck you, I need to." He was pulling you to your feet, sweeping you up and throwing you down onto the bed. You let out a sharp cry as he buried himself inside you, met by his own needy groan. He was on top of you, propped up on his elbows, warm, wet kisses at your mouth and neck while his hard cock filled and stretched you, deep thrusts inside you followed by slow and teasing, almost complete withdrawal. It made you mewl and beg, bucking back to keep him there. He drew himself upright, kneeling between your legs, wetting his thumb to tease at your clit and bring you to the climax you longed for.

"Come for me, sweetheart. I want to feel you coming for me." Between the relentless rhythm of his hips driving his cock into your tight cunt and the perfect circling on your clit, you couldn't hold back if you wanted to. Your thighs quivered, and you clawed desperately at the sheets, panting hard until suddenly starved of oxygen, coming hard, your release.

"Say it for me, say it for me, please sweetheart, please, I need…" his voice was ragged and filled with needy urgency, but you knew what he wanted.

"Thank you, Daddy, thank you."

He was done for, spilling into you with his final thrusts, letting out a deep cry as he finished.

You both came down slowly, neither in a hurry to roll away, until finally he collapsed, spent and exhausted on the bed beside you. You couldn't help but let a little laugh escape.

"Something funny?" he asked flicking your now unravelling pigtail.

"No, I just didn't really expect my day to take this turn."

"But you liked it?" he knew the answer but still had a hopeful tone.

"Yes, don't ask me why, but yes. Anything else you would like to share?" you traced your finger across his chest, it was warm and dampened with a thin sheen of sweat. He laid back blissfully, eyes closed a soft dreamy smile across his face. He opened one eye.

"Oh I think its your turn, don't you."


End file.
